Six Weeks of Distraction
by miss-blanche
Summary: What do you do when you’ve been banned from sex for six weeks? You play scrabble of course. Then you watch some late night infomercials. Then you drink vodka. Then somehow you end up in lock up. It all keeps your mind off sex. Supposedly. Mark/Lexie
1. Scrabble

A/N Just something fun and light that struck me when I watched the 'penile fracture' playing out on youtube. I estimate that there will be about six chapters, maybe a few less. Anyway, enjoy :)

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**Chapter One – Scrabble**

She can't believe it.

Well she can. Really thinking about it, playing scrabble with _Mark Sloan_ was inevitably going to lead to this. It's just… When she suggested it two hours ago, it was in an effort to try and get his mind _off_ sex, not turn him on.

At first it was tame. There were lots of double meanings. He came up with things like masochist which apparently has a totally non-sexual meaning as well. She wasn't convinced but she let it slip because out of all the dictionaries she's memorized not one has included the word masochist (she feels deprived.)

Things of course got worse from there. It wasn't just the tiles he was putting down to spell out words that were blatantly sex related, it was his expression – cheeky and mischievous like he was trying to undermine her.

She doesn't want to remind him of why he can't have sex for six weeks. She really doesn't. Every time she does it results in self hatred and guilt.

"Orifice?" She asks in disbelief.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Orifice?" She exclaims again in case he missed it the first time.

"Well I didn't have the 'S' or 'A' for sacrifice so..."

"Mark." She says in her best whiny voice.

"What? It's a hole or opening. It could be a wound or a pipe." He shakes his head, "and you say I've got a dirty mind…"

She throws an 'N' tile at his head. Unfortunately (and she's not completely sure how it happens because surely such things are only the products of divine intervention and she can't imagine God spelling out dirty words on a scrabble board) it bounces off and scatters some of the existing words.

"Does that say dil-?"

"Don't say it."

"Hey, that was you."

"No… It was you because you're an infuriating sex maniac!" She exclaims.

"Are you trying to tell me something? Do you want a dil-?"

"PENILE FRACTURE!" She exclaims. "PENILE FRACTURE! PENILE FRACTURE! PENILE FRACTURE!"

"Exactly. I'm going to be out of action for six weeks. That doesn't mean-"

"Argh, no!" Se doesn't want to do this but with a sigh she leans over and takes a frying pan from the counter top, "Remember the pain."

He eyes the pan warily; "What exactly are you going to do with that Little Grey?"

"What do you think I'm going to do with it?" She asks smugly her eyes widening suggestively. She's saying it with her eyes. _I broke your penis, I can do it again._

He winces.

"I'm just saying…"

"No."

"Okay. Do you want points for-?"

"No."

"Okay."

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**Don't suppose reviewers would be interested in 'dirty-scrabble' playing Mark? ;)**


	2. In the Gym

A/N Sorry about the rediculous wait. That crappy life thing keeps getting in the way. Thanks to Labil who supplied the prompt for this chapter and the general idea of jealous, running Mark :) And thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter one! I was bowled over by the enthusiasm for this (and I hope you haven't given up on the idea of me updating.) Enjoy :)

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**Chapter Two - In the Gym**

His heart is about to explode.

Of course, being a doctor he realises it's impossible. Hearts don't make warning beeping sounds inside the chest cavity before blasting apart into a million pieces. There is no Gaza strip between your lungs. Hearts are very down to earth. They don't do dramatic explosions set to ridiculously over-the-top orchestral music by Hans Zimmer.

But then, ten minutes ago he would have said it was impossible for his legs to continue doing that 'thump, thump, thump' thing they're doing (apparently some people call it 'jogging' but he can't really consider it anything less than medieval torture). Over the last ten minutes he's realised three things. One; he is very much thirty eight years of age. Two; Lexie is very much twenty four years of age and three; impossible doesn't exist. If his legs can miraculously conjure the energy to keep going (and yes, his legs are acting on their own accord because the rest of him lost all energy quite some time ago) then his heart can certainly explode.

"Six miles." She says in a victorious puff.

He grunts back. He doesn't know where his legs are getting their energy from but he's not going to speak in case it's his vocal chords.

"Are you okay?" She asks, sneaking a concerned look his way.

He grunts a non committal 'ahuh' and tries to remember why he's here. It had something to do with transforming all his sexual energy into kinetic energy (she used some metaphor about mobile phones and energy transformations which cemented his belief that she was never popular in high school and that she's been lying about it the whole time). In hindsight he thinks he should have gone with the sex and endured the agony of his penile fraction. The operative word being 'endure' because this medieval torture distraction is anything but endurable.

"I didn't realise how fit I was," she says proudly; "Cristina's kept me in great shape."

He really wishes he could get out his witty (and totally sex related) comment on _how_ Cristina's kept her in shape but his lungs have joined in on the 'ticking time bomb' party his heart is hosting.

"We should do this more often."

That almost stills his legs but he catches himself in time, trying not to topple backwards off the treadmill.

"Really, are you okay?" There's more concern in her voice this time and he decides he should probably give her some evidence he's not about to have a heart attack (even though he's pretty sure he is.)

"Fine," he somehow manages to say, impressing himself more by adding; "How… Far?"

"Six point five." She says coherently.

He kind of hates her.

He barely notices when an athletic twenty-something gets on the treadmill next to Lexie but he hears the sniggering. He ignores it. This isn't about male aggression and subconscious competition. It's about losing all energy so he can go back to his hotel room and fall into bed without getting the urge to feel up his girlfriend. Because when he thinks about that he tends to not think about his penile fracture and not thinking about _that_ leads to thinking about lots of other stuff that he's not sure he can resist.

He hears beeping and he actually believes he's having a cardiac arrest. Yanking out the emergency stop clip he thumps his chest in terror. It takes him a few seconds to realise it's the guy on the treadmill next to Lexie increasing his speed and incline.

"What's wrong?" Lexie asks glancing his way.

"Think he's had too much." The 'smug prick' next to her chuckles.

"I've run fifteen miles." He growls.

"Seven." Lexie corrects with a tiny smile.

He kind of loathes her.

"It's okay you know," the 'little shit' says, legs hitting the machine in long confident strides, "You reach a certain age and you just can't keep up. It's normal."

He wishes he had the breath to say something equally clever and cutting but he doesn't. Instead he huffs, puffs and gets really red in the face.

"They have a mature weights class at six if you want to stick around."

He sets his jaw.

"Do you want to stop?" Lexie asks. He detests how condescending she is without realising.

"No." He snaps. "I just haven't been to the gym in a while." He takes a deep breath. "I have a job. A very demanding job."

He looks at the college moron pointedly.

He just grins back before aiming his seventy blinding teeth at Lexie and asking; "You come here often?"

It's all a bit much for him now. Not only is he almost dead because of an inanimate machine but some foetus is hitting on his girlfriend with the most overused pick up line in the history of the universe.

"Uh… Occasionally." She says in that ridiculously sincere voice, blissfully unaware of his trawling glances up and down her body; "I'm a surgical intern so I don't get much time."

"You look in shape."

He steps (or stomps rather) onto the treadmill and bashes the speed button until he's almost sprinting to remain vertical. It's not about competition but he's not going to watch some idiot flirting with his girlfriend while he has a stroke in the background.

"Thanks." She says, ducking her head and blushing wildly, shooting Mark a kind of wide eyed 'can you believe this guy is flirting with me right in front of you?!' look that's accompanied with a smile that's just too satisfied for his liking.

He kind of fucking deplores her.

The jealousy in his chest bubbles over the edge of his badly placed facade. He bashes the speed button again, determined to beat this little shit at his own game. His masculinity has been threatened enough in the last two weeks and he's not sure it can handle another hit.

The foetus calmly hits his speed button, the quick strides becoming almost blurred.

With an entirely primitive growl Mark smacks the button and tries to resist the urge of taking Lexie right then and there to show this little dick that he is Dr Mark Sloan, plastic surgeon and sex extraordinaire.

True to his irritating nature, the prick uses one specific finger to hit the speed button pointedly, breaking into a run that's completely out of Mark's reach (he matches it, taking the hits with inward cringes anyway because no one tries to out do him in front of his girlfriend.)

Lexie's head snaps between them likes she's watching some high speed tennis match. She's totally unaware of how intoxicating her innocence is. Totally effing unaware.

"Careful old man." The dick says snidely, "I wouldn't want your daughter here to have to drag you to the emergency room."

It's too much. He yanks his and Lexie's emergency stop clips out simultaneously, catching her as she stumbles backwards and kissing her ferociously. By instinct her tongue tangles with his. His hands go straight to her arse and all these damn images are in his head before he can even think…

"Penile fracture!" She exclaims, breaking away, "God Mark!"

He ignores her, ducking his head to capture her lips again and catching her just off guard enough to get a response.

"Stop." She's more amused now than angry, only half hearted in her attempts at pushing him away. Half hearted as she is it gives the adrenaline of undermining her and the little shit enough time to stop pumping through his veins. He staggers a bit, suddenly very light headed, his heart beating in an uneven rhythm that just can't be healthy.

"Mark?" She says carefully.

"Water," He croaks, "I need water."

"Puffed by first base old man?"

Lexie just manages to get him out of the gym before he strangles the smug fuck with his emergency stop clip. He did actually get the threat out (dotted with obscenities and just what he'd do with all his body parts if he ever looked at Lexie again) before she pulled his arm around her and practically carried him out the front doors.

She drives (his legs can't handle the pressure of the pedals) and doesn't say anything the whole time. He's pretty sure she's trying to protect his masculinity.

When they get back to the hotel room she says timidly; "Maybe jogging's not the best idea?"

He hobbles around to look at her; brown eyes wide and terrified meet his gaze.

She's got no idea how intoxicating she really is but he just doesn't have the energy to think about it. With ten miles between him and the little prick male aggression is no longer fuelling his actions.

"Maybe not." He says falling face down onto the bed, "But it had the desired effect."

A grin threatens at the corner of her lips; "You're not thinking about sex right now?"

"I'm thinking I might be twenty years too old for sex if that counts."

She smirks, flopping down next to him and sneaking a hand between he and the bed sheet in a way that makes him sure her intentions are entirely sexual, "Actually, I think the twenty years make all the difference."

He raises an eyebrow (he doesn't know how he manages it); "I thought you were trying to distract me Little Grey?"

She rolls him over (he doesn't have the strength to resist) straddling him in an entirely teasing manner; "I was." She laughs, "But now I know you're too tired for much to come of it…"

"Except driving me completely insane" he murmurs, closing his eyes.

"I'm throwing caution to the wind."

She hovers over him, waiting for his reply.

"Mark?"

She can't help but laugh. Jogging may have almost landed him in jail for murder in the first degree but for now it's saved his penis.

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**Anyone interested in competitive Mark? Leave a note in the review ;) **


	3. Late Night Infomercials

**A/N: **Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed this and mega thanks to anyone who's still interested :) I'm pretty sure I really am the worst updater in the world (especially for a fic that's quite easy to write). Enjoy anyway :)

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"Er… Lexie, what are you doing?"

It's been three weeks, and while he does realise that that is an extraordinarily long time for a new couple to abstain from sex, the situation he is being presented with right now is on an entirely new level of worrying.

"Shhh…." She waves a marker at him, her eyes fixed on the TV, "This is important."

He's sure she's not a drug addict (well, kind of) but she scarily resembles one; her eyes are blood shot and twitchy, her movements are predator like, horrifyingly still as if she's about to pounce on the TV at any second.

"It's the magic-"

"Shhh." She shushes him again, this time using a piece of paper that is suspiciously full of writing.

He glances at his watch out of interest and notes that it's three am, just an hour and a half before he has to sneak out the front door and an hour before Lexie has to get out of bed and be ready for rounds.

That kind of time frame isn't looking promising.

"If you call now, you will receive a complimentary blender…"

Lexie's hand scribbles erratically across the page (which he notices now has been divided into special feature, price and item columns for extra ease and understanding.)

"Er Lexie," He approaches carefully, movements careful and calculated; "Can I ask why you're writing about late night infomercials?"

It takes her a while to reply (the sales guy has just added something about content circulation and it's efficiency in liquefying ingredients and she adds it to her special feature column dutifully), when she does she keeps her eyes trained to the screen; "Helps keep my mind busy when I'm not at work."

"You mean instead of sleeping?"

"Can't sleep." She says quickly. Her sentences are uncharacteristically short and he gets the faint impression that she's far more interested in the blender than she is in her apparent insomnia.

"Lex…"

"Hmmm...?"

"You're a heart beat away from turning into Edward Norton with bruises."

"No sex Mark," she says in a possessed voice that makes him raise an eyebrow; "No sex with this amazing guy who talks and laughs with you for hours and hours… Phone! Phone!"

The number for the magic bullet has appeared on screen and sheets of infomercial information fly everywhere as she scrambles for her cell.

He's sure Edward Norton had an obsession with home items at some point too, before he started project mayhem and a violent, national revolution against consumerism.

He looks at Lexie worriedly.

"First two hundred callers get a free… Damn it! The line's busy." She concentrates extra hard on the keys as she punches the 1800 number in with speedy precision.

He wonders if there are a million other men around the country watching in horrified bewilderment as their girlfriends use blenders to escape their sexless lives.

He goes to say as much when, tapping her fingers impatiently on the side of the arm chair and frowning at the wait, she uses her marker to shush him once more.

"And now on to something a little different, Sean?"

"Thanks Miranda, today, for the very first time we're introducing the new medication all men are too ashamed to ask for. Are you finding it difficult to, perform like you used to?"

His mouth drops open in horror.

"This new drug – completely approved by certified physicians' country wide – will insure that you get the best results, and that she does too!"

Sometimes he wonders who invented the phrase 'God works in mysterious ways' and whether they were being wildly ironic at the time.

"They're going to cut to a..." He barely gets the sentence out before two attractive, tanned, twenty something's in underwear appear smiling seductively at each other.

He pinches the bridge of his nose just as the TV shuts off.

He glances a look at Lexie through the dark – she appears to have dropped her cell phone and her marker and is staring at the TV with terrifying concentration once more.

"The world is obsessed."

He's quite tempted to reply with a 'Can you blame them?!' but stops himself just in time, going with a much less loaded; "Ahuh, completely."

"We don't need that. We have conversation and blenders and…"

"Conversation and…" He adds feebly.

"How many days has it been?"

The fact that she's referring to the time period in days instead of weeks is worrying in itself.

"Twenty two."

"So we're, half way right? That's, that's… Good."

Silence envelops the space between them.

"It's not that it's all about sex – because it isn't – but, I really like you, like, hide you in my bedroom so we can talk and play scrabble like and…" She sighs dramatically; "I need some sex Mark. I really need some sex."

Silence rears it's ugly head once more and Mark is more tempted than ever to risk the future health of his penis.

"Well, we don't have the magic bullet yet, but we could still blend something."

"Is it wrong that mincing fruit in a high speed blender gives me some sort of vindictive pleasure?"

He laughs loudly and pulls her into a hug; "Yeah Lex, it is."


End file.
